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Harold Blake Walker
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Biên tập viên
An Occasional Dream
I recall how we lived
On the corner of a bed
And we'd speak of a Swedish room
Of hessian and wood
And we'd talk with our eyes
Of the sweetness in our lives
And tomorrows of rich surprise...
Some things we could do
In our madness
We burnt one hundred days,
Time takes time to pass
And I still hold some ashes to me,
An Occasional Dream.
And we'd sleep, oh so close,
But not really close our eyes
'Tween the sheets of summer bathed in blue...
Gently weeping nights
It was long, long ago
And I can't touch your name.
For the days of fater were strong for you...
Danced you far from me.
In my madness
I see your face in mine.
I keep a photograph
It burns my wall with time
Time,
An occasional dream
Of mine.
An occasional dream
Of mine.
An occasional dream
Of mine.